


In Darkness

by EdilMayHampsen



Series: Blind Faith [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, F/M, I GOT A NON BRITISH CHARACTER AND I GOT EXCITED OKAY?!?!?!, I say curse words, M/M, Martin goes wild with the powers, Pre-written BABEYYYY, Spoilers and warnings in the tags, The complete opposite of pining, Tim and Sasha are aroallo but I am not so I might fuck that up, blink and you'll miss it animal death, cannon typical general eye distress, dark!Martin, its vastly fluff but i wouldn't call it toothrot per se, less than cannon typical mentions of violence, or rather Manuela says curse words...a lot, self indulgent mechanism references, third person limited Jon POV, waiting for the right moment to punch someone in the face
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25363720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdilMayHampsen/pseuds/EdilMayHampsen
Summary: After escaping from the institute with the archive in tow, The gang regroups in Scotland as they look for a way to foil the Ceaseless Watcher’s plans, helped by an old enemy or two.Martin renounces the Lonely, only to find a new calling. Jon can only hope he can be a part of it.Part two of the blind faith series. You CAN read the independently but I would not recommend as you will be confused.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Oliver Banks/Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Other Minor Relationships, Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, a lot of openly despising eachother, minor Basira Hussain/ Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Series: Blind Faith [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794976
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> TW for blink and you'll miss it sexual assault mentions

Physically, Jon is on the road, but he sees another place entirely. Maples, their leaves sparse and half-shed curl around fenced-in grounds. The sky is overcast. Elias kneels at the foot of a mausoleum, head bowed, hands together. Surely not praying, but thinking. In the distance, a gate adorned with the wrought iron text  _ esuoH dnalrooM _ .

Jons knows where they are.

A bouquet of lilies rests against Elias’s knees. 

“You can’t hear me, Peter. You’ve won. You’ve finally escaped me.” There isn’t a hint of self-satisfaction in Elias’s tone. He speaks in the high part of his mouth, his voice watery.

“But this is me taking second place in my own way. I will keep coming back. I will always make an empty place for you in whatever world I encounter. You may have died but you won’t die alone. Regardless of what you wish.” A bitter smile quirks at the man’s lips. His cheek twitches with the effort of it. 

For a long moment, Elias just sits. The sounds of birds and rabbits somewhere in the distance is utterly absent. Elias’s eyes are closed. He perceives nothing, but  _ feels _ everything. It radiates off of him. Jon almost cares.

“Now I must be going before your vile relatives find me here.” Elias stands, and when he finally opens his eyes, freezes in place.

“Jonathan.” Elias tilts his head, flustered but hardly showing it. “It’s...It’s rude to look at your fellow eye.” He says simply, and Jon feels his second vision go black. 

\-----

Jon is a good driver. He’s proud of it. He isn’t the kind who regularly zones out to spy on his former boss, though nobody else is that “kind” either, normally, he is an attentive, law abiding citizen. It helps now, with Martin snoozing in his passenger seat. When Jon glances over, he still sees mist bleeding from the man’s skin. But it looks as if it’s oozing away to disappear forever.

The radio is on low, Jon preferring the reassuring sound of Martin’s breath. He inhales the idea that, if just for today, they are safe. Yesterday, hell, an hour ago, Jon had no idea if he’d even be alive to reflect.

The air conditioning makes his car the non-urgent, unfeverish kind of warmth that feels like being a bundle of lit kindling in the best way. The lonely was so cold. But they aren’t in the lonely anymore. They are no one's cards to play, no one's pawns. They proved as much when they empted the building of anything of value.

_ “If we can’t leave the archives, we’ll simply have to take it with us.” _

Sasha cackled when she heard it, and Jon can’t help but smile at the idea he’;; get to hear her laugh again.

_ “I loved you, you know.” _

A shiver runs up Jons spine at the memory of those words

_ “Loved.” _

Jon presses his lips togethers as something thick and bitter coils around his sternum. At least he can take comfort in the fact that he had Martin once upon a time. Even if it faded. A sad smile touches his lips. Martin’s phone is plugged into the aux, so Jon turns the volume up.

My feet are aching

_ And your back is pretty tired _

_ And we've drunk a couple bottles, babe _

_ And set our grief aside _

_ The Papers say it's doomsday _

_ The button has been pressed _

_ We're gonna nuke each other up boys _

_ 'Til old satan stands impressed _

_ And here it is, our final night alive _

_ And as the earth runs to the ground _

_ Oh girl it's you that I lie with _

_ As the atom bomb locks in _

_ Oh it's you I watch TV with _

_ As the world, as the world caves in _

Tears sting Jon’s eyes. He wipes them away to focus on the road. Gliding through a shallow turn, the car jolts as it passes over a stone.Martin wakes with a snort, blinking in stupid, tired surprise. 

“Alright there, Jon?” He yawns, peering at the man with his one open eye.

“Yeah I’m just-” He cuts himself off “Perfectly fine, yes.”

Jon studies the road. There isn’t anything to look at, really. The birds are waking up to the sunrise, and the scenery is a breathtaking mix of colors, shades of peach and purples cleaving a line in the sky behind the hills. Jon is hardly processing this. The skin on his forearm prickles at the slight change of heat as Martin sits up and rests his hand on the space between them. Nothing he sees will be as beautiful and satisfying to the eyes as the man next to him, but still Jon resists.

Martin doesn’t. Martin stares.

Jon can feel him fumbling with everything he wants to say, he leans into his other Eyes and, without turning his head from the road, watches Martin's lips open and shut. Admires the curve of his furrowed brow. Watches as if Martin’s very existence rivals the greatest creations of Michelangelo.

“You loved me.” 

The words come out of Jon’s mouth before he has the time to process them. Jon almost winces.

But then Jon sees the red flush the blooms on Martin’s cheeks like a rose in timelapse, and the way his lips press together into a small smile he tries to hide. How Martin’s eyes blow wide, watches every fiber in his stroma relax as Martin's brown eyes go dark with his growing pupil.

Jon can’t breathe.

“Ha!” And then Martin is grinning, face shut tight as his smile takes over, he sinks into his seat, a pile of red giggling. “S-S-Stop!”

Then Jon is smiling too, turning from the road to stare openly. “Stop what?”

“Stop doing that thing with your face!” Martin says in between gasps for breath.

“Smiling, Martin?”

“Yes!” He buries his face in his pull over, still laughing, laughing in waves like the thundering of a waterfall that just won't stop, pitching up into hysteria “Stop smiling at me. Please. It’s been so long. I can’t- I can’t-” he gasps “I can’t.”

Martin begins to cry.

The car pulls over almost on its own, Jon undoes his seatbelt and leans over. The gearshift digs into his side, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Martin’s hand clutching the front of his shirt like a lifeline, and Martin’s face flushed and buried into his neck, and Martin’s quivering form as he giggles and sputters and confesses.

“I missed you so much. I missed all of you. You were in all of my dreams and then I wasn’t dreaming anymore. You were  _ there _ . You are  _ here _ . And it’s so much. It’s so much. I missed you so much.”

And Martin.

His hands tighten.

“And then there was  _ Peter _ .” He spits “And he  _ hurt you _ . He tried to hurt you and I wanted to  _ kill him _ for trying to take you from me.”

And Martin.

He pulls Jon in closer, wrapping his arms fully around him. Jon feels his support go out and he nearly impales himself on the pens sticking out of his cup holder, but what is another scar in comparison to this? 

And Martin. 

“It hurts.” Martin whispers “It hurts like seeing light after being in the dark for so long. I’m so overwhelmed. But, god, it’s you. It’s you, Jon.” Martin laughs with the pleasure of saying his name, and it’s all he says, repeating ‘Jon’ like it’s a prayer.

‘ _ Yes _ ’ Jon wants to answer, his body shaking with how much he ways to say ‘ _ I know. I know. I love you I love you I love you _ .’

Instead he just holds Martin in his tiny car, pulled over in the scottish hillside while the sun rises, and the birds sing, listening and cooing meaningless comfort as Martin quiets. He presses his face harder into Jon’s chest and his breath stops all over again. Jon’s arm is pressed between Martin and the seat, but he rubs the small space he can reach on Martin’s back. 

“I’m here.” Jon says “I’m not going anywhere. Okay? I’m not leaving you.”

Martin’s breath slows. Calm and shallow against him. Jon tucks his chin to get one last view of Martin’s eyelashes lazing against his cheek, battling his freckles for Jon's attention. Jon pulls Martin’s arm off of his back, and wipes the lines of tears away slowly. Martin’s cheek is soft. All of Martin is soft. Jon feels soft.

And Martin

Jon turns the key in the ignition, still smiling. He clicks his seatbelt back on and wiggles into the upholstery, bringing his hand to his own face, Jon pressed into them. As quietly as he can, Jon exhales all of the air from his lung, and  _ almost _ feels functional. He grips the steering wheel and pulls away, relaxing into the drive, turning to Martin to stare whenever he wants to.

And Martin and Martin and Martin and Martin.

\-----

Their house in rural Scotland is a three bedroom, covered from roof to base in chipped clapboard, tucked away on a private road a half mile from Daisy’s safehouse. Jon and Daisy aren’t close, Jon knows better than anyone. Sasha and her, on the other hand, get on like a house of fire. Often to similar results. Daisy said the place was abandoned. She’d be living down the road with her Fiance, but Jon didn’t plan on visiting, better to stay with the folks who actually want him around.

Jon turns to wake Martin, then stops. His face is still flushed, but only slightly, due to dreams Jon doesn’t dare pry into. His face is still half buried in his jumper. He looks altogether adorable. Jon raises his hand to brush a curl away from Martin’s face.

A rap on the window. 

“Heard you pull in.” Sasha says, “Wanna help unpack, or are you just gonna sit there like a creep?” She eyes the scene.

Jon shushes her, but Martin doesn’t stir. He feels the heat grow on his face.

“Okay, okay! I’ll be quiet. But we really could use an extra pair of hands or two. We gotta work through the possessions of four grown adults and a small archive.”

“I’ll help, but let Martin sleep. God knows he needs it.” Jon doesn’t mean for his tone to be pleading. But it is. “He’s been through...a lot.”

“Yeah, alright,” Sasha says, she gives him half a grin “So have you, I see.”

Jon steps out and takes a breath of cool air, deciding to ignore her.

“Where do we begin?”

\------

The garage is lined wall-to-wall with cheap shelving. 

“Boss!” Tim greets.

“Yes, hi.” Jon says, surveying the scene. “Tim, put the Empty Boxes on the shelves. Sasha, Label one for pre 1800s, 1800s, and every decade between 1900 and now based on time of recording. Don’t put the last digit of the year, some of them will need more than one box and we can deal with that when we get there. Tapes will go on the shelves underneath in the shallower bins, I’ll handle those.”

“Doesn’t feel like I’ve felt work at all.” Sasha jokes.

“At least there’s no crippling feeling of being watched at all times.” Tim puts a wink on the end of the sentence, and Jon makes a face.

“Yes, well, I’m still here. If you need to get a room we have several.” He said it to prod at them, but Sasha only giggles.

“That’s for later.”

They get a good half of the statements sorted through. All of them are real, give or take a few fake ones that are still important, the traumatized babbling of people who had met the fears previously, or perfectly normal encounters with Gerry Keay. Jon it might’ve been paranoia on Jon’s part to mark them with the stranger, but Elias didn’t notice them fade out of his constant vision, and in the end it let them Pluck every true statement from the shelf in a matter of hours.

At some point, Jon had put on the sounds of rain he liked to work to, but Sasha deemed it “Too ominous” and changed it to a more upbeat playlist. Jon couldn’t help but smile as Tim grabbed Sasha to twist like lovebirds in the 60’s. 

They were shocked to learn that Jon does, in fact, know every work to “Truth hurts”. He blamed Georgie.

_ Come my way and stay, my honey _

_ Lay your body down next to me _

_ We can chase away your worries _

_ Sleep in peace and serenity _

They fall into harmony easily.

“Only Nerds know this song.” Sasha laughs.

“You know it too.” Tim says.

“Did I stutter? Take this one, Jon!” She holds her hand out to him.

_ Stroke the spun gold of my hair _

_ I'll give you joy too strong to bear _

_ The frenzy of a beast untamed _

_ The softest pleasure, the swee- _

“Jon?”

“Martin!” Jon startles so hard he nearly jumps to the other wall. “You’re awake!”

“Partying without me?” He smiles. Martin’s hair is sticking up at all angles, the sewing pattern of a leather car seat stamped onto his face; He looks bemused.

The music stops.

“Actually, we were working.” Tim says, hand still on the speaker’s off button. 

“Oh...Sure, yeah of course.” Martin says, he wrings his hands. “How do you need my help?”

Jon’s heart flutters “Well If you come over here I’ll show you the 1900s an-”

“I think he should help with the 1800s.” Tim says, arms crossed. “On the other side of the room.”

“That's a significantly smaller section.” Jon counters.

“So Martin can do it  _ alone _ .”

Jon doesn’t miss the look of pure fear on Martin's face. He sets his feet wide and raises his chin at Tim.“If you’re so concerned about the 1800s you can do that yourself. Martin, come here please.”

Tim huffs. 

“Sorry.” He says, stepping in between Jon and Martin at the last moment “I noticed a file I need.” he doesn’t step back.

“Tim.” Sasha warns. They look at each other for a long time, before Tim pushes himself away, walking to the 1800s.

Sasha sighs and turns the music back on, but nobody is in the mood to sing.

“Hey, Jon?” Martin whispers.

“Yes?”

“Next time please wake me up. I- ah. I don’t like being in small spaces alone like that. It’s too much, it-”

Jon places his hand on Martin’s forearm “You don’t have to explain. I won’t do it again. You just...Needed the rest is all.”

Martin smiles and mumbles a thanks. Jon scrambles to tuck it into his memory.

\-----

“Under no circumstances can you cut a sub sandwich length-wise, Mr. Stoker!” Sasha yells, Slapping the dinner table for emphasis.

“What if there are different meats depending on the spot in the sandwich and you have to share? Huh? Would you deprive me of that sweet, sweet honeyed ham?” Tim shoves a piece of plantain in his mouth and thrust out his chin like he’s won.

“Under those very specific circumstances, Tim may have a point.” Jon says.

“Oh shut up! Nobody should take dietary advice from you Mr. ‘ _ I’m fine Sasha, I had a scone for dinner. It had Blueberries. _ ’ Sims.”

Martin chortles. It is, admittedly, quite a good impression. “Maybe I’d have bought you dinner if you hadn’t been stalking me  _ O’ ceaseless watcher. _ ”

“Oh. Oh! So it’s make-fun-of-Jon time now it is?” Jon says, Happy Martin is speaking at all after their encounter in the care, and a bit overwhelmed by the mischievous look in Martin's eye. “And no you wouldn’t’ve my, hmm,  _ My Solitary Guardian _ .”

Martin scoffs overdramatically, ignoring the blush creeping up his cheeks in favor of poking more fun at Jon. “Yours?” He raises his fork to lay into him, the beginnings of a giggle on Sasha’s lips-

Tim slams his glass down onto the table, with a loud thud, though the silence that follows is louder.

  
“Funny how I’m the only one who doesn’t know about this. Isn’t it?” He asks the table. When he doesn’t get a response he zeros in on Martin “Tell me, _Friend_ , was this before or after your little- ah- Patron tried to murder him?”

“He knew he couldn’t kill me. I'd just be out for another six months.” Jon tries.

“I’m not talking to you.” Tim growls.

Martin sits up in his chair, but he still stares down at his food when he says “ It was after. If you must know.”

“Oh I must. Did you have a sweet little time on this date of yours? Fog up Jon’s brain to entertain your sick little crush one last time? Finally take what you wanted?”

“Jon followed me, I didn’t ask him to.”

“So you just pretent the whole beat-Jon-to-death-with-a-pipe incident didn't happen?” Tim’s smile is angry, eyebrows raised in challenge.

Martin's voice is small and watery when he says “Stop.”

“What are you going to  _ do about it _ .”

“ _ Go away!” _

The next time Tim blinks his eyes go wide, his skin translucent through Jon’s Eyes “Shit!” he says, leaning back in his hair “He really...huh... _ Shit! _ ” 

Martin is shaking, gripping the table hard.

Sasha is calling Tim’s name. Louder now. He doesn’t respond, only gets up from the table and disappears into the hall as if he’s looking for something. 

Jon can only watch.

“Martin, it’s really goddamn hard to be a neutral party when you-- what did you do to him? Where is he?” Sasha says, panic and anger slipping into her voice. “Where did he  _ go? _ ”

Martin presses his quivering lips together hard. Dread drips off of him in misty waves, it lingers in the air. The archivist Sees it.

“Martin.” Jon says, standing to cross the table over to him. “Martin, look at me. I see you. I always see you. I need you to breathe and let yourself be seen.” Jon takes Martin’s hand like a key in a lock. 

They share a look.

“I forgive you okay, but you’re letting the Lonely come back and we can’t let that happen. Tell me-

“ **_What did you do to Tim._ ** _ ” _

Martin gasps “I swear I didn’t mean to. I promise. I guess it just came out because I was scared? I’m not exactly sure what I did. But I sent him away, somehow. He’s still here. You See that Jon.” Martin pauses. “Right?”

“Yes, I see him, how do we get him back? You got this. You can do this. Come on.”

“He can’t see or hear us so…” Martin worries his lip “I just have to let him go. But give me a minute. Please. Just to catch my breath.” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand painfully hard. But Jon doesn’t flinch.

After a minute of deep breaths whispered reassurances, Sasha tugging on her curls, Martin squeezes his eyes shut.

“Shit!” Comes from down the hall.

“Tim?” Sasha gasps, she disappears after him “Oh, Tim!”

Jon stands, not exactly sure what to do, so he gives Martin a pat on the shoulder and returns to his chair, taking a bite. 

After a beat, Martin let’s out an exasperated laugh. “You’re just going to keep eating after that?” he asks, endeared.

Jon stops chewing. Swallowing thickly. “Well Dinner is part of my routine now. I’m hungry.”

“Okay.” The tension in Martin’s shoulders relax “Yeah. Me too.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, before Tim and Sasha walk back in. By the Glare Sasha is sending Tim’s way, he’s clearly been pacified.

“Thank you, Martin.” Tim says with the tone of a spoiled schoolchild. He takes a moment to muster sincerity before he says “ I mean it, though. You didn’t have to bring me back. But you did. Yay for me.”

“I’m sorry for doing that. Next time I’ll control myself but you...I wouldn’t fight back if-- It’s scary when you do that threatening thing. I don’t like it, and when I want you to go away-” He makes a sweeping motion. “Yeah.”

“And he didn’t ignore the Peter thing,” Jon interjects, too quickly. “I See things… sometimes.”

“Things that aren’t there?” Sasha whispers.

“They’re  _ there _ it's just that nobody else can see them.”

Eyebrows are raised.

“It’s an Eye thing!” Jon sighs “Like I could see Tim when...Well when he wasn’t here. That night I saw what happened in Peter’s office.” Jon feels his face grow warm, but Martin’s skin is where the blush shows. Sasha coos curiously.

“Martin...talked--Martin  _ threatened _ Peter about it. Hurting me, I mean. Told him not to do it again, defended me and such. It was-” Jon clears his throat and stuffs his mouthful of chicken before he can embarrass himself any more.

“I wasn’t aware you saw that.” Martin whispers, sounding altogether too pleased with himself.

They both fall silent again, each with a small smile on their lips.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings apply.

Dessert is ice cream with fudge. 

Martin lets Jon pick which mug he wants, and he reaches for the one with a ceramic cow face. Tim makes the appropriate noises of disappointment.

“I wanted Mr.Moo Moo.”

Jon scoffs, “When we had them in the office it was Miss. Moo Moo.”

“Jon.” Martin calls.

“One second Martin. Tim is answering for his cow crimes.”

“Crimes? It’s a simple answer, Jon. Mr. Moo Moo is trans. So if anyone here is guilty of cow crimes, good sir, it is you. Verdict?”

“Guilty.” Sasha answers “Tim gets the cup!”

“Jon?” Martin asks. 

Jon nods and watches as he loses Mr. Moo Moo for a plain blue mug.

“What a shame.”

“Jon.”

“What is it Martin?” Jon says, voice edging on annoyance.

Martin checks he has Jon’s attention. He shows Jon the inside of his cup, scooping ice cream into two mugs, and topping them with fudge. He slides one mug to himself and the other to Jon before going to fill Mr.Moo Moo.

“Martin... Oh, wait. Oh.” Jon looks at Martin, studying him. He feels soft. 

”Martin you don’t have to do that anymore. I know you’re not going to poison me I was just… a bit paranoid, is all.”

“A bit?” Sasha says.  
Jon rewards her comment with a glare, then he turns back to Martin, and feels a smile creeping back onto his face. “I trust you.Completely.”

Martin blushes “oh!” he says. “Th-thank you.”

Tim points down his throat.

“Okay!” Sasha says, clapping her hands together “Having our stuff in piles is fine for right now, but we need to choose whose room is whose so we can start properly moving in.”

“I want the one with the porthole window. It’s pretty.” Martin says “But I can totally be talked out of that.”

“‘I’ll take the couch” Jon offers “And you can split the other three rooms between yourselves. Works out great.”

The table goes silent.

Tim snickers. “For an all-seeing entity, you’re really-- damn, Jon.”

Sasha takes a deep breath, and lets it out “Jon you know that Tim and I are together, right?”

“What? No. You’re roommates.”

“Jon you can just tell people they're not in a relationship.” Martin chides, biting in his laughter.

“But when I was at your apartment you didn’t share a room.”

Tim raises an eyebrow “We did though. I have no clue where you got the idea we didn’t. I even called it the bedroom.”

“I thought you were just being cryptic. What was that other door?”

“You mean the Linen closet?”

“Oh.” Jon considers “You aren’t very openly affectionate.”

“Yeah...we aren’t like that.” Sasha looks to Tim, who nods “Tim and I are both aromantic. Not that into kissing-”

“Love hugs.” Tim interrupts.

“Yes Tim, we’ve all experienced your lovely little assaults in the stacks. But anyways, me and Tim, uh…” a lightbulb turns on in Sasha’s head.

“Jon,” She says, the pitch of her voice curling upwards, “What did you think Tim and I were doing when I asked you to give us a couple hours alone?”

“Cleaning. Like you said.”

Tim and Sasha take a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Yeah, yeah I know now!” 

Jon palms his face, “Since we’re already having this conversation I’m Biromantic. Asexual.” He doesn’t realize he’s saying it until it’s already passed his lips. Jon looks, feeling little panicked, to Martin.

Martin tries to look casual as he makes eye contact with Jon. “I am quite-- gay.” He says, popping his lips for emphasis.

They stare at each other for a few seconds.

“Tension!” Tim says cheerily, snapping the moment in two “If you’d like to get a room we have several! We just have to pick soon because I’d like to go to bed.”

“Pothole window.” Martin squeaks, redder than ever. “I’m sticking to it.

“We should take the one with the biggest closet, since we’re sharing,” Tim says to Sasha, who nods.

“I’ll take the other one then.” Jon says “It’s settled.

“Is that all we need to discuss?” Martin asks, suddenly enthralled with stirring his ice cream into a milkshake and looking nowhere else.

At the chorus of respondings “mhm”s and “Think so”s Martin says-

“Good!” and with that he grabs his mug--a pink one with a ceramic pig face-- and dashed off down the hall.

“He just came out, and yet, so repressed,” Tim says.

Sasha snorts.

It’s exactly 11:37:41 at night, and Jon can’t sleep.

He feels safe enough, knowing his friends are nearby, but no matter how many blankets he buries himself under, he still feels so cold. When he turns over in bed for the 26th time, Jon sees a yellow door.

“Oh hell-”

“Hello to you too!” Helen says, stepping into Jon’s bedroom with a grand wave of her arm. “Did you miss me? Or are you grumpy that I'm interrupting the love bird’s beauty sleep?”

“Tim and Sasha are down the hall, but if you want to see them it will be in the morning.”

“If I wanted to see them I could whenever I wanted.”

“But I would make you hurt for it.”

“Oh Archivist, you’re no fun!” Helen chuckles, random sounds mixed into her laugh like a child hammering at an effects panel. “But if he isn’t here then I’ve come to the party early! Time is so confusing in those hallways you know, no clocks or calendars.”

“You could always get some.”

“That’s Hilarious!” She shrieks “No!”  
“But I do think I’ll stay and watch the happenings, I might have business in the area, you see. You do have an extra bed for me, don’t you?”

“If you insist on being here you can take the couch. But you won’t be making trouble. Not for anyone in this house,” Jon thinks to Daisy and her fiance down the road. “And not to anyone nearby.”

“No trouble you won’t enjoy in the long term. But that won't quite do. Let’s see.”

Helen kicks her door open and bends at an impossible angle to peer back into the halls.

“Helloh!” She calls “If you’d care you join me, you can come out. If not, I’ll add strobe lights, how fun!” 

Out sprints Manuela Dominguez, she places her elbows on her knees as she catches her breath. Helen waits patiently.

“You,” Manuela growls as soon as she spots Jon.

Jon can’t help but be bored even as she takes a purposeful step towards him.

“Ah ah ah!” Helen chides, wrapping her long fingers around Manuela’s shoulder, and spins Manuela to face her. “Now if you value those pretty little eyes of yours seeing what’s actually there, instead of the world as I want it, I’m the only one that gets to hurt these people.”

“That’s not how this works.” Jon says, Helen blatantly ignores it.

“We’re gonna go find our place for the night, aren’t we Manuela?”

The girl's shoulders stoop as she nods.

Jon forgets to ask where exactly they plan to go, but he gets his answer in a few minutes when a soft rap comes at his door.

“If you actually belong here you can come in.”

Martin pokes his head through the door, a bit bleary-eyed. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright. I couldn’t sleep anyways. What happened?” Jon chortles “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Almost, actually. I was reading in bed then some woman walked in, said it was her room now, and demanded I got out. She made the whole place so dark I could feel it sticking to me. And I thought, You know what? I don’t get paid enough to deal with this, and if she hasn’t killed me yet, then I can deal with it in the morning.”

Martin walks in, shutting the door softly behind him and Jon can’t help but notice the shape of Martin's bare arms in his sleepwear. He tries not to stare. “So I go into the living room to grab the couch but all I see is a. I don’t know, a collection of flickering neon shapes emitting the most horrible sound. You would have thought ten cats were fighting a Battle royale.” He pauses. “A Battle Royale is-”

“I Know what a Battle Royale is.” The Archivist responds “I don't live under a rock.”

“Yes, well. I’m not risking an intrusion on Tim and Sasha, so now I’m here. With no pothole window.” Martin smooths the duvet he brought against the floor.

“What are you doing?” Jon asks.

“I’m taking the floor.” Martin says as he rolls off of his feet onto his knees “Why?”

Jon stands faster than someone with their earbuds in at the entrance of the queen.

“You take the bed. I’ll go floor.” 

“It’s your room, Jon.”

“Well if it’s my room I say you take the bed.”

“I’m not leaving you on the floor.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to share.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” Jon is incredibly pleased with himself. He climbs into bed, feeling himself sink as Martin climbs in after him

“I hope you don’t mind if I read? I’ll have to keep the lamp on.”

“No, not at all.”

He tries to sleep, but can hardly manage over the tight feeling of things unsaid. Jon groans and rolls over “Can I make a request?” he asks, staring up at the ceiling.

“Of course.”

“Will you read out loud for me?”

Martin hesitates.

“You don’t have to.’’

“I will if you want, but I’m reading through some old poetry of mine. I don’t know if you want to hear it.”

“I do.”

“A-alright then.” Martin clears his throat, sitting up a bit straighter as if looking more confident will help him feel as such. 

You-

“Oh, it’s one of those.” Martin groans. He pushes forward.

You will s-see me.  
In such a way I can’t help but say I love you  
As your words ring out in song   
I’ve no choice but to- But to h-harmonize to  
And in this song-

“I think that’s quite enough of this poem.” Martin says. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything good to read. I think I’m going to bed now.”

“That was good.” Jon insists, he’s too tired to put enthusiasm behind his words. “I enjoy you.”

“My writing? Thank you.” It isn’t what Jon meant, but he doesn’t push it.

As soon as Martin lies down, Jon wonders if he’s taking up too much space. Half would be fair if they were the same size, but Martin has double the mass Jon does. Maybe two-thirds for Martin would be a fair deal.

“Marti-”

“I’m taking up too much room, aren’t I?” Martin chuckles nervously and slides away, his residual heat slipping into cold nothingness.

“No, of course not. You’re practically falling off the bed.” Jon doesn’t question how he Knows “I was going to ask if you needed more, actually.”

“Oh. You don’t mind me being closer?” 

Jon feels himself go red as Martin sputters through an apology.

“I mean- I- Well-”

“It’s fine. I want you to feel comfortable. And safe. I know you’ve been through a lot.” Jon rolls over to flash a smile in Martin’s direction. It might be too dark to see, but he doesn’t care. Jon pushes himself back until one leg protrudes from the blanket and the corner of the mattress digs into his hip. He doesn’t care. 

All the Matters is the watery smile on Martin’s face. He doesn’t move any closer. The space between them is, frankly, a ridiculous size for two grown men to not take advantage of, but it stays there. A silent offering to each other that it’s there if they need it. That I’m here if you need it.

Martin, Jon notices, snores. Georgie was wrong about it being cute. But it’s nice.


	3. Chapter Three

Jon’s back aches as he rolls out of bed. Martin isn’t there, and judging by the chill in the sheets, he hasn’t been for a while. Jon doesn’t mind. He stayed up a couple hours longer. 

The hall is empty, but the sounds of living come from the sitting room, so Jon keeps going, seeing Tim stare out the Window as Martin rolls out a crook in his neck.

Jon winces “Sorry.” 

“‘S alright.” Martin responds, smiling a little as he notices Jon bundled up in the duvet like a lumpy pilgrim.

“Yes but maybe I wasn’t quite fair with the bl-”

“It’s fine.” Martin says again. He glances nervously at Tim.

‘Is he ashamed of that? Probably not. Tim hasn’t been very supportive. It’s fine.’ It doesn’t feel fine. Jon looks anywhere but at Martin.

The kitchen is...blacked out, as if someone took a marker and drew over the entryway.

“What happened here?” he asks.

Tim doesn’t reply. 

“Would you like a cup of tea, Jon?” Martin laughs, wide eyes insisting that  _ yes, you very much do _ ” The kettle plugs into the wall. The cream is in the fridge but, well we have the sugar!” Martin holds the jar up in victory, his smile almost faltering in the silence that follows.

"Sure, Martin. Thank you."Jon Latches onto the lifeline "Where's Sasha?"

"Out in the back 'having a smoke'" Tim answers, emphasizing with air quotes.

"But She doesn't smoke?"

"She grabbed one of your cigarettes and left to scream at the hills when a humanoid shadow called her hair nappy first thing in the morning."

"...Wow."

"She's been under a lot of stress recently."

"No, No I get that...This was supposed to be a break."

“Right? I know I like my women weird and all but waking up to this-” Tim gestures to the pitch-black kitchen,“This is a bit much.”

The darkness emits a sound like a herd of ducklings unfortunately in the way of a stampede of wild boars.

Jon groans “Helen will you quit with the sounds, it’s too early for this.”

“What are you going to do, stop me?”

Jon thinks.

“Remember your ex, Kevin Saucedo? He and his  _ new fiance- _ ”

“Fine!” 

“Good.” 

"Here you go." Martin says, pressing the tea into Jon's hands. It was made with a bit too much sugar to make up for the lack of cream. It's alright.

“It’s perfect.” Jon says. He isn’t lying. 

“Oh!” Martin exclaims, clasping his hand in glee “Helen, would you be so kind as to play ‘April in Paris’ by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstong? You can do that, can’t you?”

“I can if I think I can. Though it’s quite rude of you to use me as your music box.”

“Well-”

“Don’t play that boring bullshit.” Tim interjects “Helen, play Church by Fall Out Boy.” He’s baiting Martin again, as if he didn’t learn last time. His smile predatory, teeth just a bit too shiny. 

“What part of ‘too early’ do you not understand?” Jon snaps. The smile falls instantly from Tim’s face. “April in Paris, if you would.”

Martin gives him a thankful look.

As the music begins, the lights turn on in the kitchen. Or rather, the darkness turns off. 

Manuela walks into the sitting room with two bowls of rice porridge, pressing them into Jon and Martin’s free hands without as much as asking. 

“I am  _ so _ tired of this little soap opera you guys have going on here.”

“Oh, don’t act high and mighty.” Tim retorts “The first thing you did this morning was insult my partner. It’s not like we asked you to be here.”

“I didn’t ask to be here either! Don’t Bite the hand that feeds you, is what you say?” Manuela grows, narrowing her eyes in an admirable show of self restraint from turning the bowl of porridge over into Tim’s outstretched palm. “Or was that just another thing I heard echoing in Helen’s hellish hallways.”

“You make it sound almost fun.” Martin tries.

“It isn’t.”

“Almost?”

Manuela  _ does _ turn the bowl over into Helen’s hand, who squeals in delight.

“No.” Manuela gives a one sided grin “Nice try though. You’re the one who’s room I got?”

“Took.” Martin says.

“Serves you right.” TIm says. They ignore him.

“What’s your name?” Manuela asks.

Jon takes a wide, step closer to Martin as he answers. She glances at him, and crooks an eyebrow. “Right. Martin, you’re my favorite bitch here.” She keeps staring at Jon as she says it.

Martin sputters “T-thank you?” 

“Quite.” Jon says, blinking slowly and grateful he's holding his breakfast through the duet fabric so the way his hands are shaking in anger doesn’t show. He shakes himself. 

“Why are you here, Helen?’ Jon presses. The woman blinks coyly at him. “ **_Why are you here_ ** _. _ ”

“Ooooh, compulsion. Tickly!” she giggles “I thought I’d watch the prelude, and I brought Manuela along to help.”

“How are you forced to tell the truth, and still say so much bullshit?” Manuela asks, almost in awe. “But if you’re trying to hide from that eye dude, I can do that. I can try.”

“ ** _Are_** **_you lying_** _._ ”

“Sorry, friend, that won’t work on me.”

“Just testing.” Jon says “Thank you. It’ll be very helpful. At least while we figure out a plan.” The words taste bitter and overly-professional on his tongue.

The coming days leave few things to be desired. Jon offers to Know Peter’s banking information, but Sasha takes it as a challenge, something to keep her in her room when she isn’t exploring the hillside, if only to avoid Manuela and Helen.

“Their vibes are ugly.” she explains “We won’t get along.”

“You could try?” Martin offers “Helen is decent at charades. Even if she...contorts.”

“No.”

Martin gets along with everyone but Tim, who continues to stalk him around the house, despite the passive aggressive warnings thrown his way. 

“What?” Tim says when he comes home one day with a rabbit in each hand. “Needed to vent.”

He says he trapped them. No one really believes him.

Somehow, Sasha convinces Jon to grow his hair out with her.

“My sister...well I never got to practice braiding, see. And it would help me a lot to practice on a similar texture.”

\---

One day, Jon sits between Sasha’s knees, facing out toward the TV as she parts his hair into sections.

“Can I ask you something?” He says, letting his eyes drift closed as he gathers the courage.

“Keep your neck straight. And yeah. Always.”

“You know how Martin and I are...sharing a room now?”

“Yesss?” She says.

“Nooo” Jon replies in the same tone, it gets a giggle out of her, and Jon can’t help but laugh along. 

“Keep your neck straight!” she gives Jon a swat on the skull which only makes him laugh harder.

“Yeah yeah, sorry.” He sits up and looks at his fidgeting hands so Sasha can reach the back of his head “You and Tim share a bed, right? How do you have enough space? My back always hurts.”

“You and Martin share the bed?” She says. She tugs on Jon’s hair when she forgets to let go to gesture excitedly.

“Ow!”

“Sorry! I’m just happy for you clueless bastards. Wish I recorded that though, great blackmail material.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would.” She combs more gently “Tim’s a sleep-hugger. Space is a non-issue.”

“But like, what if you don’t want to touch-”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Sasha!” Jon says, he tries to whip around to face her, but only earns another pull on his scalp. “Ow!”

“Just sit still, you big baby.”

“Right. But like...If you and you sister had to share. How would you make it work?”

Sasha’s grip tenses. “We just did. Me and her...It always just worked.”

“Sorry.” Jon doesn’t quite know what he’s apologizing for, but he does anyway. They finish the braids in silence.

\---

The next time Jon wakes up, his arms are around Martin, who pressed into him warm and relaxed. Jon is, when he lets himself be, a sleep hugger.

Martin blinks awake. “This is okay?”

“Yes.” Jon breathes, burying his face into the distance between Martin’s shoulder blades. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” Martin breathes “Always.”

\---

The nights with Martin are Jon’s favorite, as slowly, Martin unbraids and combs his hair, running his fingers along Jons scalp. Sometimes, after the best of days, Martin sings. 

“I wrote this one myself.” He murmurs to Jon, before beginning in his soft tenor.

_ Nightmares don’t hurt people, dreams do _

_ I’m learning to wake up without you _

_ If the night is dark _

_ Then the dim day seems brighter _

_ Without a spark _

_ There won't be a fire _

_ I let my tower of nightmares grow higher _

“You loved me.” Jon teases, everyday without fail.

Martin always responds with a hum.

It’s neither here nor there. But it’s good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of projects going on right now, which is a yay for me and a not so yay for this fic. My other fic that's up right not takes a lot of work to push out weekly updates as I'm writing it as I go, and a job and DMing. Therefore: This fic will be updated weekly until the end of this part in the series. There won't be a third part like I planned, which isn't too bad because it was just a fluffy epilogue with an entirely separate plot. And also these chapters may seem rougher as I try to minimize my uploading time. Sorry if you've been really enjoying this series, but it isn't the best I can do, I'm super grateful for the learning experience it gave me as a first time writer.


	4. Chapter Four

Jon sits on the sidelines, trying to ignore his pounding headache and enjoy the game in front of him.

“Maybe it’s unfair to have Daisy and Tim on the same team.” Basira argues.

“Why?” Tim asks.

“Jealous?” Daisy adds, they grin identical, toothy smiles.

“No, You're both goliath human beings it just isn't fair.” Martin says, wiping sweat from his forehead. Tim watches the movement with rapt attention “Oh, can’t you stop being creepy for five minutes? I just wanna play volleyball.”

_ Volleyball is  _ _ a team sport in  _ _ which two teams of six players are separated by a net. Each team tries to score points by grounding a ball on the other team's court under organized- _

_ Stop. _

“And I just wanna be on a team with my wife.” Basira ducks under the net, giggling, and dives into Daisy’s arms.

“Foul!” Manuela calls, blowing repeatedly on her whistle, nobody listens.

The information comes to Jon in droves. The origin of “cookout” when he goes to grab a burger off the grill. A history of hacking used for blackmail when he glances at Sasha.

A summary of Achilles’s story when he looks to Martin.

It makes Jon’s temples throb.

“Thirsty?” Martin asks, pressing a cold water bottle to Jon’s forehead. “You don’t look so hot.”

“Perfectly fine, Martin. But thank you.”

Martin bites his lip. “You said you trust me, Jon, so if somethings wrong-”

“No!” Jon swallows down the lump in his throat, squeezing Martin’s hand in his own. “ Of course I trust you. I just. I don’t want you to worry. But if I need to tell you I will. I promise.” He gives Martin’s hand one more reassuring squeeze, and earns a small smile in return.

The water actually helps some, and Jon, in a moment of hubris, steps into the circle of folding chairs they made the court.

“Well if it isn’t The Archivist, here to bore read us to death?” Tim asks.

“Here to play.” Jon says, grabbing the ball from him with a grin. He walks over to Martin, bumping the man with his hip. “Sit out a sec? I got this.”

Martin gives Jon a wary look, Jon looks right back. Martin runs off, turning to hide the blush on his face. Jon feels his own face grow warm, glad it won’t show.

“My serve!”

“It was my turn.” Basira says, ducking back under the net.

“Mind if I have this one?” He leans to whisper to her.

“Trying to impress your boyfriend?” She whispers back.

“And what about it?”

“Jon’s serve!” Basira calls, nodding. Manuela gives her the thumbs up.

Jon hits the ball over the net in a wide arc, skewed a little too far to the left. Tim sets it back without an effort, too far for Basira on the front line to hope to send back. Jon dashes forward to spike it over the net.

Manuela blows her whistle “Foul! Stay in the back!”

Jon turns to lecture her on the difference between backward and professional rules, but as soon as they lock eyes, a pain like a bullet to the forehead spikes through Jon, his ears ringing.

_ Manuela Dominguez. Age 32,female, 5’6, and 8 stone. Born in Chile to a deeply religious family. Former follower of Maxwell Riener in the People’s Church Of the Diving host. Creator of the Extinguished Sun. Active avatar of the dark- _

“Ah, I s- _ See _ you, Manuela.” Is all Jon manages to stutter out before his vision goes dark.

\---

The static in Jon’s ears fade as his Eye opens to their kitchen.

Manuela’s head turns like a pendulum to follow Martin as he paces. It’s hard for Jon to look right at her, her image flowing with streaks of black as if she's in inky water.

“I just don’t know what I should do.” Martin confesses.

“Chill, Marto you still have time to choose.”

Jon dislikes that strongly.  _ Marto _ . What are they, friends? More than friends? He cuts off the thought.

But Manuela is beautiful. Especially after she stole Tim’s truck to thrift for her mix of oversized academic wear and niche graphic tees, trashing the dirty clothes she’d emerged from the yellow door wearing. Half the time she puts on makeup just to stay inside. She has a way about her that’s so different than anyone else here. Jon’s mouth tastes bitter.

“I just don’t  _ know _ . I’m never the one who knows things or makes decisions. I just- I follow orders and look pretty.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t almost single-handedly stop the instruction.”

“But I didn’t-”

Then Manuelas hand’s are holding Martin, and he’s squeezing back. Her palm is on his cheek and he flashes a grateful smile and Jon feels bad. Bad. Bad. He feels ill.

“But you tried.” Manuala whispers “Give yourself some credit.”

“Yeah.” Martin says. “Okay. Yeah.”

Jon knows that if he was awake he could be screaming. He wants to glower, to make Manuela feel everything he feels. But he isn’t angry, not really. He forces himself to withdraw fo the half-eaten vision as he slips into his own dread.

\---

“You said you would hide us!” it might be Tim.

“I said I would try! I’m just one person, up against the strongest avatar of the eye. Unless you wanna find me a  _ nyctophobe in a box _ to help me out, or some other dark avatar, you can shut it, bitch.”

“ _ Don’t tell me to- _ ”

“Jon’s awake.” The voice registers as Sasha’s amongst the ringing in his ears and the . words in his head, saying and seeing everything at once.

He presses his eyes shut tight waiting for the thoughts to recede.

The next thing Jon feels is something against his lips. 

“Come on Jon, you need to drink something,” Martin says easing the water into his mouth “There you go. You’ll be okay.” Martin grabs Jons hand to place it on the cup, and curls his fingers around the cold glass. “There you go. It’s okay. We’ll be okay... How are you feeling, Jon, can you speak?”

“Better now, and yes.” Jon chokes out, his tongue feeling unfamiliar.

“What’s today?”

“Thursday? I don’t know, I wouldn’t know anyways. Martin I don’t have a-”

“Shh. Nausea, Headache or Dizziness?”

“Headache, but it’s going away now, I swear I’m  _ fine _ .” he isn’t thinking of Manuelas hands on Martin’s. He isn’t.

Martin presses his lips together, but retreats.

“We need to go.” Tim says “It isn't safe here anymore.”

“It’s isn’t safe anywhere anymore, Mr.Stoker.” Helen says, covering a curly grin with her long fingers.

“What could you possibly be smiling about?” Sasha presses.

Helen only giggles. “I love this part.”

“More cryptic bullshit!” Manuela snaps “Are you actually going to help?”

“I brought you, didn’t I? I can’t help beyond that.”

“Can’t or won't?” Jon asks, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple “and please keep it down.”

“Can’t. But may I say, Time is an old friend of mine and she is not on your side. Tic toc!” Helen produces a timer from one of her many pockets, a dizzying array of numbers in no particular order. Everyone groans.

“Well we need some kind of plan.” Sasha says “Just sitting here puts everyone in danger.”

“Martin’s been weirdly quiet.” Tim announces, his eyes sharp.

“I’m thinking.” Manuela hums.

“If you have an idea we need to hear it.” Sasha reminds him.

“Yes, I know. It’s...You’re not gonna like it.” He takes a deep breath“ Manuela said she needs a Nyctophobe or-”

“We are  _ not _ putting someone in a box.” Sasha intejects, though Tim looks hesitant to agree.

“That’s not what I was suggesting. A nyctophobe  _ or _ another dark avatar. So what If...I become...That?”

“Absolutely not.” Jon says. “Being an avatar is horrible.”

“Maybe being The Archivist is horrible.” Manuela interjects, Jon glares at her, “But being an avatar isn’t all that bad. At least the dark doesn’t put worms in your skin. The dark is divine.”

“Of course you would say that.” Jon argues.

“Can you think of an alternative, Archivist?” Manuela squints at each of them “I don’t think anyone else could do it. The Lonely and The Dark are quite close.”

“How did you know?”

“Like I said, we’re almost the same, you and I.” Manuela gives Martin the first soft smile that’s appeared on her face since she stepped out of Helen’s door.

“Just because you’re helping doesn’t mean I have to like you.” Jon says.

“What, are you a child? I didn’t ask you to.” Manuela sneers back.

Martin winces, and Jon’s heart turns over in his chest. She’s right. But he still doesn’t like it.

\---

Martins runs his fingers down the lines between Jon’s cornrows.

“You’re tense today.” He hums “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No...yes. Yes. I should.”

“Is this about the Manuela?”

“It’s about the dark...yes.” Jon stands, turning to grab Martin's hand in his own. “I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Someone has to do it Jon.” Martin says, cupping Jon’s cheek.

Jon lets his eyes flutter shut. It’s what Manuela did to Martin. I should feel wrong, he should be angry, but he isn’t. Around Martin things are just  _ okay _ . “I know. I just wish it didn’t have to be you.”

Martin snickers.

“What?” Jon snaps.

“It’s...It’s just funny because-” Martin’s smile bubbles up into a snort “You’re jealous!”

“I am not.” Jon says, turning his back to Martin in shame.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t even a little jealous of your crush on Oliver.”

“I do not have a-” Jon feels his face go red “Okay maybe. A tiny crush. Just a little. He- He has a face.”

“Manuela has a face.” Martin teases.

“At least Oliver doesn’t have a better face than you! Or- Or have little kitchen rendezvous with you.”

Martin goes quiet, his hands recoiling from the top of Jon’s head like it’s burned him, before placing his shaking hands on Jon’s shoulders. Sliding them down, down until his arms are wrapped around Jon’s neck. 

“Oh.” he says. “You saw.” Jon freezes as Martin presses further into him.

Matins speaks with his face pressed into the crevice between neck and shoulder, breath and stubble tickling Jon. “Manuela would talk to me. Tim hates me and Sasha’s with Tim so I can’t ask that of her, and you’re great, Jon, but I can’t just have one friend. Not after...Not after everything. We would just talk. Manuela is a very pretty girl, yes.”

Jon hums, unsatisfied.

“But not as pretty as you.”

Neither of them dare breathe after the words pass Martin's lips. They sit entirely still in the almost dark, radiating moonlight casting a blue tinge onto their faces. Jon feels Martin’s skin grow warm against him.

“Okay.” He says in a cracking voice. “Thank you.”

Martin unwraps himself, then eases Jon’s head gently forward to begin undoing the next braid.

“The Lonely and The Dark may be similar. But at least serving the dark I can still be with you.”

“But you won’t have to be.” Jon hates how his voice cracks, hates the hot tears that pool in his eyes and blur his vision.

“Jon?”

“If you join the dark you can’t be an archival assistant anymore. The dark will overpower the eye. You can leave. Leave me.”

Martin lets out an involuntary gasp at the idea.

“No.” He says resolutely “Absolutely not. I- I’m not going to serve some ancient fear god to protect you and then leave just because I  _ can _ . Jon are you insane?”

“Maybe?”

“Stop! Stop doing that thing where you-where you- Cut it out. I’m staying. I’m staying because I choose to stay. I choose to be with you.”

“Oh.”

“Now for the love of-christ- for the love of Eyes or Darkness or whatever, let me finish with your braids so we can sleep?” Martin asks, his tone pitching up into pleading.

“Of course, Martin.” Jon wants to say so many things. He wants to say I love you. To say the way you hold me at night shouldn’t be a secret. That we can just be us. 

“But you aren’t together?”

“Oh my god, Jon. Sit still and let me finish up here.”

Jon refuses to stay in place. Instead, he leans into the cool quiet that surrounds Martin like a shield, feeling the low throbbing in his skull fade to nothing.

For the rest of the night, Martin’s voice is the only thing between them and silence.

\---

“But you tried. Give yourself some credit.”

“Yeah.” Martin says. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Your boyfriend will be fine, stop freaking out.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Martin pouts, batting her hand away to palm at the red on his face.

“If he’s not then can I-”

“No. Please stop. I am  _ so very  _ gay.”

“That’s a shame.” she laughs.

He gives her a playful shove. “Just because I’m gay and confused and you’re a decent person doesn’t mean I’m gonna joining your...cult thing. Not without thinking about it. I can’t tell if you’re manipulating me, or if you aren’t and I’ll regret it.”

“Either way, Martin. You can have companionship in the dark. You can be  _ together _ in obscurity. It doesn’t have to be scary. You can be with Jon and still save everyone. I promise.” She hold out her pinky finger, and grins when Martin links them together.

“Okay.”

“It really is a shame you’re gay though, you’re really just my ty-” Their both laughing before Manuela can finish her sentence, poking eachother in the sides and laughing some more. “We’ll start looking into it tomorrow, kay? I believe in you.”

“Thanks, Manny.” Martin says, placing a quick kiss on her cheek.

Jon doesn’t feel a smidge of jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to update this! If you're reading you know the deal that I'm just finishing this fic as it's written, but I also want to acknowledge that this fic is pretty problematic. Plot points I won't talk about here because I think they actually come up next chapter are not true to the real-life situations of people who may relate to those characters. I have since been informed just by being around and reading shit.
> 
> This fic was written as something for me to break into writing, I don't think I did anything justice, the plot OR the characters, and this includes representation. I'm proud that I got something out there so that I can stop worrying about my ability to pull it off and worry about more important thematic things like representation, and I'm not sure if I should take this down or not. For now, it's staying up, because I think my transgressions are in inaccuracy and mildly irritating cliches rather than anything actively harmful, but I thought It was write to acknowledge that this writing, like all writing, has its issues and that in the future I will try harder to do marginalized groups other than my own justice, because that's what I want fo myself.
> 
> Thank for reading the fic, if you're still here! (though I really think you would enjoy my new one better)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all my amazing Betas who really helped me refine this:  
> Imbekkable- Check out their awesome fic [ And They Were Zoommates](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842450/chapters/57297796) It's one of my personal favorites.  
>  [ Gheloured ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gheloured)  
>  and [ Lleah on instagram! ](https://instagram.com/lleahistired?igshid=ljvxs1wgs2q5)  
> Find me on tumblr @drumkonwords
> 
> I'm preeeeetty sure the chapters in this part are longer than the last one but I dont actually pay that much attention to say for sure lol.
> 
> comments make my day, if you'd deign to bless this wretched writer.
> 
> Updates every friday! I just decided to be a bastard and post early today.


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